Life Kicked Back
by Lizewski
Summary: A sequel to Kicking Ass for Life, it takes place years later when both Dave and Mindy are adults.  It explores how they have coped with their superhero adolescences and how it effects them now.  Finished.
1. Chapter One

LIFE KICKED BACK

NOTE: This is a fan fiction, not intended for profit. The Kick-Ass characters were created and owned by Mark Millar and John Romita Jr.

I hate comic book conventions.

I also love comic book conventions. I am a very confused person. I love the conventions because I get paid to be there and meet people who, on average, idolize me to an unhealthy degree. I hate them because I have to go to them. Who am I? I'm Dave Lizewski and I'm the writer/artist of the mildly successful KICK-ASS!

Life's a funny thing. It never goes according to plan and if you're not careful you'll get swept away in currents you never imagined existed. When I first donned my now infamous green and yellow mask to battle crime in the streets of New York City, my idealistic 16-year-old mind did not intend for this to be where it ended. I honestly never thought about where it would end. Hence, me getting shawshanked by existence like an Albert Camus character when Chris Fucking D'Amico/Red Fucking Mist blew my secret identity wide open on the Internet. The prick is dead now, but I don't take any real satisfaction in it. He was a dumb kid, not that different from me, who never had a chance with that kind of a father. I don't like to dwell on these thoughts for too long.

Anyway, it's been seven years since Chris died and nine in all since Kick-Ass started. However, he was only a real-life superhero for the first two years of his existence. After my name became a top Google search, the lawsuits started piling up and despite my relative success, I'm still in quite a bit of debt. I lost my girlfriend, my best friends (one of them was taken off life support 14 months ago because of my nocturnal activities) and a lot of options. In many ways, I'm very fortunate that my alter ego has become such a cult hero to a specific subculture. I now work for Marvel Comics and Kick-Ass has been reincarnated as the newest popular edition to their pantheon. He's no Spidey or Wolverine, but he's new and he sells. Given the shape of the industry, that's good enough for them and that's good enough for me.

So, here I sit, still dressed as Kick-Ass (sans the mask), ready to sign autographs and rub elbows with my people, the common clay, the salt of the earth—the Fanboy.

"So, did you really battle Red Mist on a rocket in Times Square," asked William Mosier. William seemed like an affable chap. More than a bit rotund and in need of a shower after what appeared to be a three-week dry spell. A shave wouldn't hurt either. Still, he seemed likable enough.

"Haven't you seen the videos on Youtube?"

"Yeah, but I can't believe that was freaking you! I mean that is fucking insane."

"What would you like me to say," I asked, taking the comic book from his hands and pulling out my trusty marker.

"To my ass-kicking partner in….ass-kicking, Big Willie." I looked up at him to make sure that nickname wasn't a joke. He looked earnest, so I commenced in transcribing the message.

"And did you really team up with the Fantastic Four to save San Francisco from the Mole Man?" I couldn't help but smile at his wonderment.

"No, Will. Most of the adventures Kick-Ass has had on the page come from my imagination. I've never really had a true team-up with a real superhero."

"What about Hit-Girl? She's real. That video of her killing that hot yaoi girl while hanging on that building is sweet!"

"Couldn't say, Will. But I hope to see you here next year. We can talk about more of Kick-Ass's adventures."

As Will wandered off, the next fan showed up. He's a tall bloke. His features were inherently boyish with a pasty face and shaggy light brown hair that sprawled to the back of his neck. He seemed both eager and nervous to be in my presence.

"So, what's your name?"

"Stevie Augustus," he said with a slight accent and a slight twitch.

"That's a cool name Stevie. Where you from?"

"I was born in the Balkans, but I've grown up in the US since I was 8. Your comic has meant a lot to me," he said with all sincerity. He had to be only a year or two younger than me if he wasn't in fact older. Still, his appreciation was refreshing. We talked for a few minutes about the art of the book and my "expressionistic style" (his words).

After my session was over, I headed directly to the bathroom to change out of my attire. Part of me still loves that I get to wear the Kick-Ass outfit. It's actually not the suit I wore as a teenager. Joey Q had this designed by a professional Hollywood costumer who did one of their movies. When the book launched, I went around to all the geek hotspots dressed in it. The reaction was so positive that whenever I do an event like the Manhattan ComicCon, I have to pull it out. Some in the press call me an exhibitionist, but I prefer being called an entrepreneur. I was able to keep the intellectual property over the Kick-Ass character, so any way to raise his profile off the message boards and onto CNN was helpful. Plus, it makes sure I keep working out and maintaining that lean shape to fill it. I look way better than I did in high school.

"There's my guy," said Jack Polone as he kicked in the bathroom door with the kind of fanfare usually reserved for Susan Stroman-directed musicals. Jack has been my agent for six years. That means he's also been my biggest cheerleader and ass-kisser in the same time.

"I see you've already got the costume off," Jack said, rubbing my shoulders and the button down already over them.

"Yep," I said with a cigarette already in my mouth. "You'll see it again in San Diego."

"What're you doing tonight? We should do dinner. I know the perfect little Portuguese place down by…"

"Sorry, man. I've got plans to eat with Sam." I saw real disappointment cross Jack's face. Truthfully, Jack's been a good friend when I've had few. He's well into his 60s and is balding, but he has the energy of a man half his age. He helped turn Kick-Ass Dave into a fairly affluent comic book writer/artist. But Sam Moore is in town about two or three times a year. Since he shows up for this thing, we always get a little hammered afterwards.

"Okay. Just don't get too fucked up. He's also in town for the next few days."

"Who?" I said with fake curiosity while I lit my cancer stick.

"Don't be a schmuck. Harvey Francis is in Manhattan and he wants to talk to you."

"We've done a lot of talking for the last three years. He bought the rights. It's up to him to decide if he makes it or not."

"David, I love you, but you're acting like a dickhead," Jack said as he held both my shoulders. "The heat on a Kick-Ass movie has cooled and he still wants to talk to you. If this happens, we see one percent of its domestic gross. Did you see how well the Iron Man reboot did?"

"Why's Francis even in New York?"

"Some Madison Avenue crap. I don't care. Just see him first thing tomorrow morning and go fuck around with your sketches for the rest of the day."

I sighed while I blew smoke in his face.

"I'll call you tomorrow morning and tell you how it went," I said.

Sam and I were on our third round of beers at our favorite brewery. Our dinner consisted of a few assorted appetizers and large quantities of alcohol.

"So, why didn't you bring anyone, Dave?" Sam said with a raised eyebrow. Sam knew in past years I enjoyed bringing fangirls I'd meet on the convention floor to dinner and home afterwards.

"I don't know. Just didn't feel like it today."

"Andrew have something against elves coming into your loft, now?" Sam was referring to my roommate and occasional conscience, Andrew Jones.

"Andrew's not even in town this week. He's with his girlfriend in Barbados." This peaked Sam's interest.

"No, shit?" It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. "How'd you get so lucky to be sharing a place with a day trader?" Sam of course knew that, like most in my circle these days, Andrew had been inspired by Kick-Ass to get into the superhero game. By the time he reached New York though, the superhero fad had gone out of style following the gang fight in Times Square.

"You know the answer. Rooming with Kick-Ass has its appeal for some. You literally wrote the book on it."

"I needed something to do with my English Degree and there didn't seem to be much future in bludgeoning people with a pipe," smirked Sam. I first met Sam when we were both wearing costumes. I was Kick-Ass and he was the physically imposing Doctor Gravity. Kick-Ass got murdered in the press, and the definitive book on the superhero subculture was published by this guy.

"Again though, you've dodged my question. Why no girl, Dave?"

"I'm just tired, man." I am tired. Tired of girls dressed like elves, vampires and Queen Amidala staring at me in wide-eyed rapture. Those weren't relationships. They were groupies. Six years ago they were cool. Two years ago they were cool. Yet, the times are a-changing.

"You're sick of this, aren't you?" Sam asked pointedly.

"Are you?"

"I'm an expert on the subject. I'm not the fucking subject."

"All I know is I've got a movie about me to salvage tomorrow morning," I said to change the subject.

"What's the hold up?" Sam said to play along.

"The studio thinks Kick-Ass's popularity is waning. It's been a while since I broke someone's jaw. I have to go convince the CEO there's still potential left untouched."

"You could always talk about putting Hit-Girl in the movie."

Our eyes met. Sam knew this was a sore spot for me. I welcomed his book and helped him in every way I could when he needed to ask questions. But Hit-Girl remained the one thing I stayed cagey on. In over half a decade, a myth has grown around the little girl who once famously said, "Show's over motherfuckers." I never put Hit-Girl in the comic and sure was not going to put her in a movie I didn't even care about.

"I'm just pulling your chain, Dave." Samlooked around and leaned forward. He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. It was a short, simple message:

TELL ME WHO HIT-GIRL IS TOMORROW OR ELSE.

I raised my head and looked at my old friend.

"What is this?" I finally said.

"Some prick left this outside the apartment I rent this morning. They must've known I was meeting with you." I remained silent for a while.

"Probably just an asshole fan. Besides who would fuck with Doctor Gravity? He's black!" There was a momentary pause before we burst out laughing.

"One more round?" asked Sam.

"Remember," I said. Sam feigned ignorance. "Head of the studio? Tomorrow?"

"One more round?"

"One more round."

As I staggered out of the Taxi I breathed in the fine air of SoHo. I picked the loft here. Andrew couldn't care less about where he lived as long as it had space and a decent view. But for me, SoHo reminded me of being an artist. I only drew comic books, but for a few months after the unmasking, I toyed with the idea of being a painter. I still draw in my spare time. The legacy of this part of town soothes my soul.

As I walked towards home I noticed a large man hiding in the bushes.

"Hi, William," I said. He didn't move. "William? Willaim Mosier?" He jumped out of the bushes and went running down the street. My adoring public.

Inside the lobby sat Bob Tucci. He is the doorman of the building, a definite upgrade in status to their history from the 1960s and '70s. Bob's also a decent friend. We'd always have pleasant small talk when I came in.

"Mr. Lizewski," he said as I passed.

"Yeah, Bob?"

"There's somebody I thought you might want to see waiting upstairs." I gave him a funny look. He knew I didn't like him to let fans come up to the loft.

"Trust me," he said with a smile and went back to his work.

I walked up the stairs and saw someone standing in front of my door. As I got closer, I realized she was gorgeous. A bit young, but she had stunning legs filling her designer jeans and long, straight blond hair. Just from behind, I could tell she was perfect. Why can't all my fans look like this? I need to listen to Bob's advice more.

She turned around showing an equally disarming face. It was then my jaw dropped.

"Hi, Dave."

Mindy Macready was standing in my doorway. All grown up.


	2. Chapter Two

"…Mindy?"

Staring me in the face was a little girl I never thought I'd see again. Except, she wasn't little.

"It's been a long time." Her blue eyes were piercing straight through me. It was a minute before I realized my mouth was still open.

"Can I come in?"

"S-sure," I said as I fumbled for my keys. I opened the door and let her into the loft.

I pulled the coffee off the pot and poured us each a cup as she took off her coat. She was wearing a form fitting red sweater that I stole more than a glance at, I'm ashamed to say.

"Nice place," she said. She walked around the spacious living room, studying all the sketches I had decorated the walls with.

"You have a roommate?"

"He's out of town this week." She nodded as if she concurred with my diagnosis.

"So, you're 19, now?" I said, proud of my arithmetic.

"Yes, but I'll be 20 in a few months," she said as she sat down to pick up her cup of coffee.

"You're in school, now?"

"No. I tried it for a semester, but got bored."

"What do you do?"  
"I wait tables in Cleveland."

"That's temporary," I said more as a fact than a question.

"No," she replied as if she was distracted. I sipped my coffee and absorbed what she had really said.

"How's Marcus?"

"He's dead. Died two winters ago, actually." She said this as she finally took a sip of her own coffee. I felt a rock descend into my stomach.

"Oh my God. Mindy, I'm so sorry." There was now silence in the room. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"Not really." For what is supposed to be such a heartfelt reunion, this felt as awkward as nipples on a Batsuit.

"He was a good man, Mindy."

"He was a great man," she said with a sigh. "Now, Dave I'm going to ask you some questions." I was surprised with the abruptness moved into this. "Who have you talked to recently about me?" I just got blindsided.

"What," I said with a hint of protest. "I haven't said the words Hit-Girl, much less Mindy Macready in years."

"Are you sure," she said in a voice that was bordering on insulting. Now, I was starting to get angry.

"Mindy, I haven't said a damn thing about you. I've bent over backwards to hide our history, despite all the sick shit people said about me and you." Her eyes said she knew what I was saying and she didn't care.

"Then, how do you explain this." She produced a small letter with a short, simple message:

I KNOW WHO YOU ARE HIT-GIRL. IF YOU DON'T RETEAM WITH KICK-ASS, I WILL EXPOSE YOU.

I felt the color drain from my face.

"I have no idea who wrote this," I said.

"Great. Because I don't fucking know either." Mindy began raising her voice. "And after all the shit Marcus gave up to hide me, I'm not going to let whoever this asshole is ruin his kindness."

"I'm sorry," I evenly said, in an attempt to cool the tension in the room. "What would you have me do?"

"Tell me who this fucker is. He obviously knows you."

"Mindy, do I look like I'm still itching to be in the superhero game?"

"No, you look like you want to be Andy fucking Warhol." That hurt.

"No, my artwork in the book isn't that good," I said in a deflated voice. I saw her react in a way that caused her to dial it back.

"What about that stuck-up bitch you used to date?" I raised my sunken head at that comment.

"Katie? No, it couldn't be her."

"Why not?"

"She would have said something long before now if it was her. Besides, she lives in the suburbs. Last I heard, she and Marty had a kid half a year back." This time, Mindy was caught by surprise.

"I forgot how old you are," she said. Since when was 25 old? It's not my fault they settled down way too fucking early. Mindy stood up and walked around to me, giving my head an awkward hug. She seemed to be doing something she saw in a TV show once.

"Sorry for laying all my shit at your door, Dave." She let go. I looked up at her. She gave me a sad, small, forced and yet somehow genuine smile. "I was glad to see you again." She picked up her coat and started walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I thought you could help, but I was wrong."

"That's it for our reunion? Mindy!"

"I guess so, see you in ten more years."

"But I can help you." She turned back with a bemused look on her face. "At least, I think I can. A friend got a similar note. He doesn't know anything about you, but I think it was from the same sender. Perhaps, he can help us."

"Us?"

"That letter pulled me into this too. And how could I resist reteaming with Mindy Macready?" I saw the wheels turning in her large eyes.

"When can we meet with him?"

I thought of my rendezvous with Hollywood.

"Tomorrow afternoon," I said. She nodded at this.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dave."

"Do you need a place to stay?"

"I got a room at the Plaza Hotel."

"The _Plaza?_"

"I still have most of those $3 million in a suitcase. Pick me up at the hotel tomorrow morning around 11." She nodded again to herself and headed for the door.

"Mindy? It was good seeing you." She looked back at me with a light in her eyes.

"Yeah…it was."

It was one of those super fast elevators. I stood there for all of 50 seconds as it wooshed up from the first floor to the 52nd. I still had time to soak it all in. The elevator featured a smooth granite floor and reflective gold-like mirror paneling for walls. There was even a Monet poster framed on the back wall. Ah, corporate America.

When I existed the gilded cage, I was greeted by Harvey Francis's right hand man and preeminent butt-boy, Harrison Brently. Harrison dressed in the finest Armani suits money could buy. He had his hair slicked back with every hair perfectly gelled into place. At first glance, it would seem he bled blue. However, that was deceptive. One could sense in Harrison that he clawed his way to where he is. I always supposed he killed his way into Harvard, Yale or one of those and could never get over the blood off his hands.

"Mr. Lizewski, you're on time," he said with a smile that made no attempt of masking his contempt. "This is a surprise." We walked down a long corridor without exchanging any pleasantries. Through two glass doors, we entered a ridiculously well furnished conference room.

"Should I sit at the table?" I asked. Harrison gave me the most condescending look he could and turned to a mirror framed in actual gold.

"You're 9:30 is here, Mr. Francis." At that moment a door in the corner of the room opened and Harvey Francis walked out. Harvey was in his late 40s. He was bald. He was overweight. Most of all, he was slimy.

"David, it's so great to see you again. Come on back." He motioned me to follow him behind the Wizard's curtain. I saw a large staircase in fine burgundy carpeting. It stretched upwards like the stairs to Olympus. As we walked up them, I looked behind at the wall and saw the mirror was actually a window into the conference room.

"Do your executives know about that?" I asked.

"Most don't. But most never see me when I come to town."

"Why did you let me see it?"

"I figured you were good at keeping secrets," he said with a wry smile. At the top of the landing was an office with a breathtaking vista of Lower Manhattan. He sat at his desk and I took the smaller, lower chair across from the throne.

"So, you wanted to talk to me?" I said in a serious voice. I made sure to sit up properly and avoid getting my nice gray suit wrinkled.

"I wanted you to see this script," he said as he handed me a paper brick. I could not hide my shock that a writer was being asked to see what Hollywood was doing with his work. I flipped open and to the first page and saw that Kick-Ass was flying a "space-jet." As I thumbed through the first ten pages I realized it was a toy commercial.

"This isn't like my book," I said.

"Dave—I can call you Dave, right?—you have to understand that the superhero thing is becoming old hat. We need to reinvent it." I was not prepared to put up too much resistance.

"Well, it's your movie. What do you want me to say?"

"Is there anything from your own life experience you think could make it more truthful?" I looked at it some more. For one thing, I'd like my father portrayed as I wrote him (not there), as opposed to this Uncle Ben crap.

"It's hard to say, Mr. Francis. I'd have to read it."

"Go ahead. Take it home and peruse through it tonight. Tomorrow we'll talk. I have a feeling Dave that we found the screenplay we've been looking for. Kick-Ass is a go."

As I stood waiting in the Plaza's famed lobby, I realized why I was so anxious this morning was not my hate for Harvey Francis or suits in general. I had actually been anticipating seeing Mindy again. I know her stalker is a big deal and exposing her identity would have irreversible consequences. I know that better than most. But having an adventure with an old friend, as opposed to thinking up new villains for Kick-Ass to fight, was exhilarating. The nostalgia was getting to me.

As my mind raced past old memories I was disturbed from my thoughts by a bellhop. He stood in front of me.

"Gorgeous isn't she?" the man asked with a knowing grin.

"Excuse me?"

"The chandelier," he said pointing to the glass artwork hanging right in front of me. He thought I was observing it.

"Yes, it is," I said in a voice that indicated I was still distracted.

"I know who you are." Giving up on any chance of a good inner-monologue, I looked at him dryly.

"You do?"

"Everybody knows who Kick-Ass is. My son loves you!"

"Well, we do it for the children." He then put a piece of paper and pen in my hand.

"Say, 'To my best bud, Jimmy.'"

Several minutes later Mindy entered the lobby from one of the stairwells. She had a lightweight pale, violet coat on and regular jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She is still so young and it isn't hard to imagine she could be mistaken for 16 or 17. I imagine she still gets carded at R-rated movies….if she sees movies. Only her eyes give away that she's older. There is an intense maturity in them. It's a weariness I've seen her have since she was 11-years-old. Back then she could turn it on and off at will. Nowadays, it seems it's always on.

I smiled at her and signaled we should head out. As we passed the bellhop, he gave me a sullen nod, as if he was secretly acknowledging a commanding officer. I returned the nod as we went out into the cool, crisp sunlight.

We had brunch at a wonderful diner I knew about. Mindy wanted to head straight out, but I insisted on getting some food. It was also a chance to start over after last night's disaster. We sat in quiet until our food came out. I didn't mind. I could outlast her. I ordered a stack of pancakes and coffee to stretch this out. Mindy stuck with two eggs and a glass of orange juice.

"So, you're the comic book guy who is now a comic book writer, writing about yourself," she said halfway through the meal.

"Yes," I replied. I then enjoyed another delicious bite of maple syrup.

"Do you still love it like we used to?" I chewed slowly as I chose my words.

"It is never quite the same writing as it was reading. The world was so much simpler at that age. It's easier to read about someone with great responsibility before you had any. After years, plugging in any equation can become a bit tedious." She looked at me, studying me for the longest time.

"Do you regret any of it?"

"Of course." She leaned her head in, intrigued by my frankness. "I wish I had gotten obsessed with vampires as a kid instead. Do you see the bank rolling off the Twilight reboot that just opened? Superhero movies are passé. I got into the wrong fan culture." Mindy laughed at that. I finally saw her smile again. It felt nice. I now knew I could rebuild this friendship, after all.

"Seriously though Dave, you created Kick-Ass. He didn't create you. If you wanted, you could be free."

"Is that what you are? Free?"

"As much as Marcus allowed me to be. He gave me a way out."

"Out of what?"

"My father's mission. I wasn't free since birth. I was my father's daughter and I had to obey. Marcus spent the last years of his life also paying tribute to Damon."

"How did he pass?" Mindy lowered her head and looked at her plate. She then raised it and looked at me.

"I think you finished your plate too. Let's get going." She had a smile on her face that I almost believed.

Sam still hadn't answered his phone. As I finished paying the cashier I gave up trying to call him. He probably got wasted after we parted ways last night and is still sleeping it off. Mindy walked up behind me.

"Dave, who did you say your friend was, again?"

"Sam Moore." She held her breath and handed me her Plastic Logic, a digital newspaper that replaced traditional print. A headline had popped up 20 minutes ago on the AP line:

"SUPERHERO SCHOLAR" FOUND DEAD IN NEW YORK APARTMENT.

My heart sank.


	3. Chapter Three

I despise waiting.

Too often waiting can mean I'm looking for inspiration for a story or sketch. It can mean I mean sitting impatiently for a film or play to start. I even dislike standing in line at the grocery store. But waiting for the police to clear out of Sam's apartment so Mindy and I could do our own investigation is an indescribable type of pain.

After reading the news, we took a taxi to my apartment so I could change into something less conspicuous (Kick-Ass standing around at Doctor's Gravity's place of death would not look good on some fanboy's blog who snapped a photo). After I changed into jeans and a hoodie, we caught the metro down to East Village. Even after becoming a successful writer and TV pundit, Sam still loved his bohemian roots. Outside his apartment a small mob had gathered around the police. Some were reporters. Some were fans. Some were just gawkers hoping to see a dead body. A rumor spread through the crowd that it had been suicide, but the police would neither confirm nor deny this. We found a coffee shop across the street and there we waited for hours. All I could think of is that I wish Starbucks would serve liquor.

Mindy sat in the back reading a book, Joseph Conrad's _Nostromo,_ as she slowly consumed one latté after another. I sat by the front window, nursing my cold cup of coffee in my hand.

_Buzz_, my phone vibrated. I pulled it out to see the name Jack Polone and his smiling face on my screen. I accepted the call.

"Dave, you were supposed to call me hours ago. It's past 3!"

"I'm sorry, Jack," I said without any attention to the words coming out of my mouth.

"How did it go?"

"How did what?"

"The meeting, Dave."

"Harvey has commissioned some hack to write a script. He gave me what I hope is a first draft," I said with an audible sigh of irritation. "He wants me to read it tonight."

"That's great. You started?"

"No. I already know it's shit."

"Listen, what ever you're doing now…"

"We're staring at Sam's apartment. He's dead, Jack."

"…David, I'm so sorry," Jack said with real concern and horror in his voice.

"Goodbye, Jack." I hung up the phone before he could protest. I looked to my right. Mindy had come to sit next to me while I was talking. She turned her head to look at me. She opened her mouth but no words came out for a moment.

"I'm also sorry, Dave. Truly. If you need some time, I can handle this myself."

"I know Sam. He didn't kill himself. Whoever did this also sent both of you those messages."

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to finish my drink, find out who is responsible and kill him," I said in a monotone voice. I consumed the rest of my cold coffee.

It was late in the afternoon when the police packed it up and left. After the last of the bloodhounds dissipated, we sneaked around to the back of the building. The door was locked, of course. However, there was a window above the doorframe. I gave Mindy a boost and she jumped through it, shattering glass. The double bolted steel moved a moment later and Mindy was standing there. She had a drip of blood on her cheek where a glass shard had cut her.

"You're hurt," I said with the first sense of emotional feeling I'd had in hours.

"Don't worry about it," she responded, motioning me in. I ignored her tough posing and pulled a Kleenex from my hoodie's pocket. I wiped the blood off. It was shallow enough it only left a knick.

Once we reached the hall with Sam's apartment, there was tape all over his door. Mindy ripped it down and turned the knob. Locked, again. She leaned back to kick it open before I stopped her. I unscrewed the bottom of one of the lighting fixtures that illuminated the hall corridors. Inside was a key.

"There are other ways to be resourceful," I said with a forced smirk. Mindy rolled her eyes.

"You probably found the way our stalker got in. Seems the police did miss something."

"Let's see if there's anything else," I said as I opened the door.

Inside was a spacious (for New York) single bedroom apartment. It was rundown with chipped paint and creaking floors. It also had a water pipe sticking out on the ceiling, but Sam said that it always gave the place character. It also helped he spent maybe two weeks a year here. As we shuffled through the space, it became clear what happened (or at least appeared to happen). On the floor by the bed was the chalk outline of Sam's imposing figure. It seemed he climbed up on the bed, tied a rope to the pipe and took a short walk off.

Mindy looked around the area. She pulled out a small a flashlight to battle the creeping darkness from the sky outside. We wisely chose not to touch the light switches. It took her about five minutes to find what she was looking for.

"Over here, in the sink." Sitting in the bedroom next to the closet was a sink that looked like it should have been replaced roughly 45 years ago. Inside she scraped off a piece of toothpaste the size of a hair with her gloved finger.

"They killed him with extra whitening?" I said. Mindy shook her head.

"This is the latest thing. I've been reading about it. It's the smallest of residue that comes out of tasers. It's meant to look like fluids used in daily life, so as to conceal its origin. I hear the CIA loves this shit."

"You think the CIA killed Sam?"

"Doubtful. Whoever did it either has money or knows someone who does. They tased your friend and tied the rope around him while he was immobile. There's a good chance the NYPD missed this."

To maintain the low profile, we took the subway out of Alphabet City and headed north for the Plaza. Mindy had some makeshift equipment she wanted to use for analysis of the paste. It's a long shot that we'd discover anything, but it was still worth a try. We sat in silence on the train. I looked over at Mindy whose lips pouted. Her eyes were shut. I couldn't tell if she was sleeping or thinking. She does have a wonderfully cupid-shaped mouth. Its perfect for enhancing her electric smile. How unfortunate that we finally reteamed after all these years and neither of us was finding any joy in the proceedings.

Her eyes flashed open causing me to give myself whiplash as I turned my head. I knew she was still looking at me when my phone buzzed. I answered it while still avoiding eye contact with her.

"Dave, where are you now," shouted an anxious Jack.

"I'm on the subway, man. Calm down."

"Is _she _with you?" he demanded. My heart must have stopped beating for several seconds.

"I don't know who you're talking about, Jack," I said in my best poker's bluff voice.

"Hit-Girl—I mean Mindy Macready, I guess." I looked over at Mindy who was listening in to the conversation, terror spread across her face.

"Who have you been talking to?" My voice made no attempt to hides my anger.

"It's all over the Internet. There's pictures of you from this afternoon, as well as pictures of the two of you together as childr…." I hung up the phone.

I looked around the train car and realized more and more people were looking at us. They were glancing up from their cellphones, smartphones, iPads and whatever else. Then the flashing pictures started.

"What the fuck are you cunts looking at," Mindy screamed at the train. Everyone was staring now.

"Hey, Hit-Girl, Kick-Ass do y'all have grappling hooks?" said one teenager standing right in front of us. Mindy stood up and kneed him so hard in the tentacles that I'm fairly certain she killed any children he could have had.

"This so fucking epic," shouted a teenager on the other end of the compartment. "This is so going on Youtube." At that moment the train stopped and Hit-Girl went running out into the crowd trying to walk on. I followed after her, up the stairs and onto the street. She was almost about to step into traffic when I grabbed her and pulled her into me. I held her until the anger convulsing through her body stopped.

"It's…it's okay, Dave. You can let go now." I released her and saw that her eyes were red. There were no tears. Hit-Girl doesn't cry. But she does become furious. I put my arm around her and blocked the cellphone cameras going off with my body. We escaped down a back alley.


	4. Chapter Four

We walked the remaining blocks to the Plaza, but couldn't go in.

There was a media shit storm brewing outside. Mindy was now wearing my hoodie and glasses. She looked incognito enough for waking down the street, but not for the raptors waiting for the cow to be lowered in. After some reluctance she agreed to go to my place.

I had the taxi pull us around back. The cover of darkness stopped the vultures standing outside the front entrance from seeing inside the car passing one street over. What helped more is my friendship with Bob.

He opened the door to the basement after my first knock.

"I've been waiting for you, Mr. Lizewski," he said with a consoling smile. He looked over at Mindy, "Miss." Mindy's anger and emotions had subsided. She had a look of acceptance and mild misery on her face.

"Thanks, Bob," I said with a weary nod. "Try to keep all press and non-tenants out of here for the next day or so."

"With my life, sir," he said and visualized it with an overacting arm punch to the air.

Upstairs Mindy quietly went to the bathroom as I flipped through images on my videophone. Whoever the asshole was, he had taken close-ups of us behind Sam's apartment from a high vantage point. Fortunately, it was impossible to tell we were breaking the law. What could be deduced was a misleading image of me holding her face with the handkerchief. There was also a single picture of Mindy's 12th birthday party. She and Marcus were posing in front of her new house. My Dad and I were in the background. How did he find that?

When Mindy came out, I showed it to her.

"I'll tell you about it in a minute. Give me a second," she said with a grimace.

"You want some coffee?" I asked out of habit.

"I think we both need something stronger," she replied.

"Wine?"

"I was thinking that bottle of Glennmorangie I saw in your cabinet last night."

"When did you-" I gave up trying to figure out Mindy's sneaky ways. I pulled out the bottle and two tall glasses. "Ice?" She gave me a 'bitch, said what' look. We sat at the table and didn't say much of anything as we emptied the bottle. I pulled out my other fifth of 12-year-old scotch and we started again.

"That picture, if you can believe it, is on my Facebook," she said with a hint of embarrassment.

"You have Facebook?" I laughed. She looked me in the eye and for the first time in hours we both smiled. Our smiling turned to goofy grins, then incessant laughing. I don't know if it was the alcohol or the tension, but it felt like a burden was being released off both of us. The laughter finally slowed down long enough for us to talk.

"Yes, I'm on Facebook. I got on my first and only semester at OSU." The thought of Hit-Girl as a buckeye caused me to almost laugh again, but I suppressed it.

"I didn't have too many photos of me taken during my high school years. Marcus and I were trying to keep a low profile. But when I made a few friends in college, they said I should put on some pictures of when I was a kid. That was the only one I had from my childhood in New York and it reminded me of a time when…" she trailed off.

"You didn't mind risking Kick-Ass was in it?" I asked.

"That was one of the reasons I liked it Dave," she said with a twinkle in her eye. I felt the hair on my neck rise. I decided to change the subject.

"Do you keep in touch with those friends at OSU?"

"No…after Marcus passed, I dropped out. I've made sure to be on my own since. It's the only way I can feel free. Feel safe."

"So, how do you fill your time?"

"I work—you should change that to worked—at a decent steak restaurant on Lake Erie."

"Do you have any other prospects?"

"I already told you, Dave. It's not temporary."

"What about any boyfriends or…"

"I've never been able to have that kind of emotional connection with anyone. Boy, girl, man or woman. I've tried. But I only feel comfortable around a few people. Marcus was one of them." She lowered her head.

"Marcus had a heart attack," she finally said. "It was nothing epic or monumental. It's just one day he was here and the next he was gone. I hoped he could start living for himself when I went to school. Instead, he died by himself." Her head was so low now that I couldn't see her face through the log blond hair covering it.

"It's not your fault," I stated like a jackass.

"I know that. But he gave up his career and his life to help Damon's daughter. I wanted him to finally be free from my father too."

"You hate Damon," I mumbled to myself. It's hard to believe Big Daddy's daughter could hate him, but I have no idea how growing up as an orphaned Hit-Girl must feel like.

"I don't hate him," she protested in a way that sounded like she was convincing herself.

"I just resent what he….It's so complicated. Daddy was the best father to me in so many ways. He protected me for 11 years and taught me how to keep myself safe. He showed me the horrors of the world and how to avoid them.

"But he didn't want me to avoid them. He insisted that I confront them head on and snap their fucking necks. He used me as a tool for his revenge. I lost him because of that. And I lost me. Whoever, I could have been I'll never know. He determined my whole life when he drew me as Hit-Girl into one of his comic books."

"You said Kick-Ass doesn't have to define me." My voice was as comforting as possible. I reached across the table to hold her hand. "That means Hit-Girl doesn't have to define you, either."

"You had a choice, Dave," she whispered. "I've always envied that about you." She began to smile as her eyes softened from the redness gathering around them.

"You know, when I first saw you online, those first videos of you beating down those thugs by the convenience store, I was crushing on you hard. I thought this was somebody just like us. I think that's why my Dad didn't want to team up with you." I felt that uncomfortable feeling racing down my back now. There was no sound in my loft as she locked me into place with her eyes. I was lost at sea in them.

"Yeah…well, I think we both need some sleep. You can stay in my roommate's room. He won't be back for a few more days." I got up and went into my room, shutting the door.

In my dream, it was the same experience again. I've had it a number of times since Mindy saved me from my burning house. I'm floating in water, lit up by a golden orange color all around. I know I'm going to drown there and I accept it. Then out of nowhere, comes Mindy, an angel sent to save me. Her hair is fiery orange and I realize it is causing the illumination in the water. She grabs my hand and I wake up.

I raised my head from the bed as consciousness returned to my eyes. This time the dream was different. Mindy wasn't 13 anymore. She was the adult staying in my loft. As my eyesight returned I realized I wasn't alone in the dark. Mindy was standing in front of me. She also had no clothes on.

"Mindy?"

"Shhh," she whispered as she glided towards me.

"Mindy, I don't think this is a good…" She put a hand over my mouth.

"Quit being such a pussy." As she said that, she slowly straddled me in my bed.

"I…thought you said you'd never even done this with a guy before," I said, moving her hand.

"No," she said leaning back with a small smile. "I said I've never emotionally connected to anyone before. I never said I don't like fucking." With that, I felt an explosive collage of resolve-weakening sensations. Her lips on my face. Her teeth on my neck. Her hand on my…

"Mindy, we have to stop this," I cried as I vainly tried to push her off.

"You whine too much. You really don't seem to mind," she said as she reached her hand down again.

"That's because the girls who usually come up here don't look like you." I pulled her hand back up.

I'm still not hearing a complaint." She lowered her face to mine. "Look, I'll make this easy on you. It's just like the old days. I'll take the lead and you try to keep up."

"_Try to keep up?_" I said like a schmuck.

"Yeah," she whispered, now directly into my ear. "You might just think I saved your life."

I finally surrendered as her tongue crawled its way down my throat.


	5. Chapter Five

My eyes opened.

I was lying in a bed that was, for the most part, missing its sheets. I looked over at the clock. 10:14? _Shit_, I really overslept. Then again, it was after 4 am when Mindy and I finally got to sleep. Now, it was coming back to me. Sam. Another identity ruined. And Mindy.

Fuck. Did I make a mistake last night? If I did, I didn't seem to mind this morning. I actually felt better than I have in a long time. Whatever just happened, the die is cast and I've long since given up on wondering the 'what ifs' in life. I climbed out of bed and walked over to the bathroom where I could hear commotion.

When I opened the door, I saw Mindy in a towel messing with her wet, purple hair. _Purple?_ I walked over to her as she played with it in the mirror. She was humming along to her iPod on the speakers she had carried in. Loudly playing was Joan Jett's (superior) version of _Crimson and Clover._

"You've been busy," I said.

"I know. I was up at 6 to buy this before the assclowns outside returned. Bob helped me go to the local drug store. I also wore your clothes and hoodie to be on the safe side."

"What are you doing?"

"Remember, this was your idea last night."

"It was a thought that popped into my head. I say a lot of things at 3 am to partners after getting laid that we never actually do."

"I figured fuck it. Your idea would at least let me throw it back at them. They want to see Hit-Girl? I'll show them motherfucking Hit-Girl."

"Did I ever tell you how much I love your elegant use of the English language?" I said as I slid in behind her. She tried to hide it, but I could see her crack a smile for a brief moment in the mirror. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Of course. I went through a Goth phase for like a month when I was 17. I dyed my hair black with silver highlights."

"Really? Because that sounds kind of hot."

"Yeah. I used to have the cut marks to prove it." That last statement she casually threw off gave me pause. There was so much I didn't know about this girl. So much, she keeps to herself. I wasn't sure I'd ever know her fully. To change gears in my mind, I began kissing her neck and moving down to her shoulder.

"Don't," Mindy sternly told me. "This has another hour to set, otherwise we'll get purple everywhere."

"I'll take my chances," I said. I spun her around. As her towel hit the floor, I covered my hand in violet when I pulled her mouth into mine. Then she climbed up against the mirror. Joanie reached her crescendo as Mindy started hers. Lavender slowly smeared across the glass.

We lost another hour for the time it took to scrub the purple off my face, stomach and…other places. That was fine because I had to make a special call anyways. I phoned a friend to pick up some supplies for me. We would meet him around 1 pm.

As we left my apartment, I picked up the briefcase. It felt strange—like I was starting something new. I was wearing my nice navy blue suit with a purple tie. Mindy was wearing a slightly more noticeable purple as her hair color. She had straightened it and lowered bangs I didn't realize were there. It was pulled back into a ponytail for now, but I don't think it was any subtler. We walked down the stairs and found Mr. Tucci waiting for us.

"Don't you get any sleep, Bob?" I said, still wearing a sheepish grin.

"Only on Sundays, sir." He looked over at Mindy's new hairstyle. "Enchanting. Enchanting."

"We're going to need to go through that basement exit again," she said.

"Somehow, I don't think that will make much of a difference," he replied, playfully. As we walked down into the lower level, Bob stopped me at the bottom of the stairs. He handed me a piece of gum.

"What's this for?"

"Your tongue is still purple, sir."

Needless to say we got more than a few glances on the street. Normally, I think someone with an unnatural hair color would blend into New York like a sidewalk covered in garbage. However, since it was the 19-year-old girl just accused of being the Keyser Soze of Geekdom, sporting a 'Go Fuck Yourself' hairstyle, we did get noticed. Some looked at us in shock and admiration, like it was a pair of Norse gods who have descended upon the Earth. For the most part though, they stared at us like freaks. If it got to Mindy, she didn't show it.

On the subway, people were laughing and heckling us as they pulled out their cameras for the first few minutes. We stood at the end of the car and Mindy looked back at them in a gaze only Hit-Girl could give. I slowly saw them all becoming unsettled and lowering their handheld devices. Most of them became silent, afraid to look at her anymore.

Half an hour later I knocked on the door. It crept open until the occupant was sure it was only me and…the girl. A second later it swung wide open and JR gave me a big hug.

"I've followed your trip over here on Youtube," he said. "I was afraid you'd have to stop from all that madness!" We let go and did the comic colleague handshake.

"Mindy this is…" I started.

"I know who you are. It's an honor to meet one of Marvel's top talents of this generation." JR lowered his head in mock-humility.

"Come on in," he said.

Inside his apartment, he had a million questions for Mindy. Whether she was really Hit-Girl. How she became such a badass, etc. etc. I was surprised that Mindy had no problem answering his questions with openness. She really did respect this guy.

"Wow. You're a lucky man, Dave," he said as he patted me on the knee. "You know, the way he never talked about you…"

"So, do you have it," I said interrupting.

"Hey, of course I do, buddy." He held up a bag. "This is one of the finest cosplayer outfits I've ever seen. And trust me, I've been to a lot of conventions." He handed the bag over to Mindy. He then looked over at me. "What about you?"

"I brought my own," I smirked. I lifted the suitcase.

JR and I were talking when Mindy came out of the bathroom. I was wearing my Hollywood-ized Kick-Ass costume that JR and I were both long accustomed to. What we hadn't seen before was Mindy dressed in an "adult" fangirl version of Hit-Girl. Her suit looked more professional than mine and she wore it well.

"Wow," JR and I said in unison. She looked unaffected as she let her long, lavender hair hang down, framing her masked face with her bangs.

"It had to be kinda' slutty," Mindy grumbled referring to the low cut corset/top and the tight shorts that ended well above her knees.

"What are you talking about?" asked an enthused JR. "You look great." She gave him eyes like daggers. "I mean as a post-modern 'fuck you' to the media thing…and besides, it was the only adult version that didn't look like it was made for the Playboy mansion that I could find on such short notice." Mindy let him off the hook, but she was still clearly irritated.

"It's fine, my friend," I said. "Hit-Girl? I think we're ready." An unsettling, wicked smile spread across Mindy's face. She's ready, all right.


	6. Chapter Six

If they were staring on the street before, they were falling over themselves now and doing Loony Tunes-styled double takes.

It wasn't that Kick-Ass guy and the alleged Hit-Girl. It _was _fucking Kick-Ass and Hit-Girl. After walking about a block, we decided to take a taxi the rest of the way. Mindy raised up her hand and three cabs almost crashed into each other as they stopped in front of her. One of them was trying to throw his current fare out.

We stopped near the rundown office building and walked straight through. Security knew me, but I think they were in too much shock to stop us if they wanted to. We took the elevator up.

"This thing is too damned slow," Mindy said referring to the rising cables.

"This is second rate corporate America," I said. "You have to be higher on the ladder to improve things like this." We stood quiet in our super-best for another minute.

"Don't you feel a little fucking ridiculous," she said.

"Sure. But I'm reminded we were once superheroes, so who says we can't play dress up again."

"Were we really superheroes?" She looked over at me, expecting an answer.

"It mostly was pretend. But that morning you and I flew out of D'Amico's penthouse on the jetpack? As we saw the city at dawn from Spidey's perspective….Yeah, we had accomplished mighty things that day. For a moment, we were superheroes." I could see Mindy's mouth move, but deep down she was still rolling her eyes and cussing me out, I'm sure.

The elevator doors finally opened and we soared down the hall, like Batman and Batgirl moving in on their prey. We stopped by the door I knew held the answers. The name on it is Jack Polone.

Inside, his secretary is gone and the door to his personal office is wide open. In a sight I'll never forget, he was tied up in his chair with vast amounts of large rope. The image was so clichéd, the rope might as well have said 'ACME' on it.

"Dave…and Hit-Girl?" he said like Wonder Woman had walked off the page and into his office. "I'm glad to see you both. You need to get me out of this and call the police." Hit-Girl and I looked at each other.

"First you have to answer some questions, Jack," I said. The old man turned gray and a look of resignation entered his face for the first time in decades.

"Like what?" he arbitrarily replied.

"Like why you told Mindy's stalker we were outside Sam's apartment. Also, perhaps you could tell us _who _the _fucker is_."

"What are you talking about? You're confused."

"You're the only one who knew we were there," I said. "I said, '_we_,' the first time we talked yesterday afternoon. Then you called after he put us on the Web."

"If that's what she's been telling you, don't believe it. Don't become blinded by pussy…" Hit-Girl punched him in the balls so hard, mine decided to roll up and hide from her...just in case. Jack let out a groan, but she put her hand over his mouth so nobody on the floor could hear more. She leaned over his shoulder.

"I'm sure you saw the video of me sticking a katana down a creep's throat in Times Square and then skull fucking him with it. That was when I had to improvise in the midst of killing over two-dozen people. We have a lot of time here. You'd be surprised how creative I can get." He looked into her eyes and saw she wasn't bluffing.

"It wasn't even my idea, okay? I only found out about it two days ago. I didn't know they've been planning this shit for months."

"They?" I said.

"Yeah, he found some fanboy who has obsessed over you for years. Said he would have been you ten years ago. He hired him to discover who Hit-Girl was and smoke her out of hiding."

"Who?" demanded Hit-Girl.

"Harvey Francis," I said. "Am I right, Jack?'

"No, Harvey didn't even know about it. It's his assistant…that Brently prick. Harvey wanted Hit-Girl in the movie and since you weren't cooperating, he asked Harrison to find her anyway possible." Mindy started to stand back. It looked like a freight train was moving through her head.

"Whose the fanboy whose behind all the sick shit," I asked.

"I don't know!" cried a now breaking Jack. "I never met him before today. After Moore got killed yesterday, I freaked out. I called Harrison and said we needed to cut the dog loose before it leads back to us."

"So, how'd you end up in these ropes?"

"The madman came in here. He said that Harrison fired him. But nobody could fire him. He told me that he'd leave me alive so I could tell you this shit."

"Anything else you can say to us about him?"

"He was a tall bastard and he was dressed in a costume. It looked like he was from _Spartacus._" Soon as Jack finished his description, Hit-Girl pulled the chair back and Jack banged his head on the cabinet behind his desk. He was now sandwiched awkwardly between his desk and cabinet.

"What the fuck? I don't know anything else," he pleaded.

"Why'd you do it," screamed an enraged Hit-Girl. "Why did you come after me?"

"It was just business. We thought once you were out-ed, you'd want to sell your life story. We can still make you a star. Make you rich."

"I don't want to be rich. I want to be left alone, but that's something you assholes just can't get." Jack tried to find the words.

"Everybody wants something. You take the heat now and they'll eat out of your hand for the rest of your life. In the meantime, just take cover."

A little nuclear bomb imploded somewhere inside Mindy's head. She began to wail on him with all the fury of nine years worth of suppressed rage. She was screeching indecipherable words. I made out a few "fucks," "cunts," and "die fucker die." Finally, I pulled her off before she committed murder (again).

I bent down over Jack who was lying on the floor. His blood was everywhere. His nose had to be broken in four places. He spit a few teeth out as I put my head down close to his.

"That's Hit-Girl's way of saying you're fired."


	7. Chapter Seven

The Madison Avenue elevator was much faster.

In less than a minute we were on the 52nd floor. We did have some trouble with security on the ground level, but Mindy straightened them out (it will take a room full of doctors to straighten them back). At the top of the building we flew down the hall moving in perfect unison. I don't think our feet touched the ground.

Moments later, the doors to the gaudy conference room flew open. In the low-sunlit room was Harvey Francis. The modern day Alexander stood at the peak of his empire and was scared shitless…but not of us. With his back against the huge plasma screen meant for video conferencing, he stared at himself in the mirror across the room. Sweat oozed from every visible pore and his eyes looked like they hadn't blinked in hours.

"Harvey," I said walking towards him.

"Don't come any closer Lizewski." I stopped but reached out to touch him. "He said if I move or anybody…" and Harvey Francis's head exploded into red and pink mush. It looked like a bucket of Italian meat sauce with pieces of shrimp had been splashed across the expensive television and back windows. It was always said, Harvey had a mind for what to put on the screen.

The bullet that took the head of the studio came from the two-way mirror. Hit-Girl and I looked over to see a geek dressed like Commodus from the end of _Gladiator, _in white, robed armor and the civic crown of oak leaves, chokeholding Harrison Brently with one arm and a Magnum .44 in the other.

"What the fuck is this," Hit-Girl said, slowly reaching for one of the two Benchmade Model 42 Butterfly Knives that she always carried on her person.

"You know Kick-Ass," the fanboy said with a maniacal smile. "Tell her!"

"Huh," I articulated. Honestly, I was still in shock from seeing Harvey's face blown off and was pretty sure I had brain fragments on my mask.

"About you and me, man," the crazie said, swaying back and forth. "We've been planning this since the convention." That's when I recognized the face.

"Stevie? Stevie Augustus?"

"See?" he yelped at Hit-Girl. He had the kind of beaming smile on his face usually reserved for obnoxious 8-year-olds. "Only except, it's no longer Stevie. I am Kick-Ass Caesar." The image of Patrick Stewart's palm meeting his face leaped to my mind.

"Kick-Ass Caesar?" she said. He nodded like a puppy. "Look dude, I'm not a homophobe and have met a lot in the LGBT community, I've even fucked some of them…" All three breathing men in the area paused and stared at her, trying to wrap their heads around that. She rolled her eyes, "To try it out…" None of us said anything. "Anyway, that name is fucking gay." Stevie pouted.

"It's still a work in progress," he conceded. "But I'm ready to join you guys." Mindy and I looked at each other, saying with our eyes, 'Is this jackass for real?'

"What are you talking about?" I said.

"The three of us, we're going to bring superheroes back to the streets. I'm the Nightwing to your Batman and Robin." Which one of us is Batman and which one of us is Robin, I thought.

"Hey dipshit," Mindy interrupted. "In case you haven't noticed, we're kind of fucking retired."

"No, you're not," Stevie said. "I've brought the band back together and am joining the tour. Just like Dave agreed to." Mindy gave me a WTF look.

"I met you for five minutes, asshole," I retorted.

"But I got your coded message. You said go ahead with _our plan_." I shook my head at him like he was speaking actual Latin.

"Quit trying to reason with this moron," Harrison cried, apparently finally growing the balls to chime in. "I've been listening to him ramble for hours. He's fucking batshit."

"I WOULDN'T SAY SUCH HTINGS IF I WERE YOU," Stevie screamed as he pointed the gun at Harrison's head.

"I hired him to find Hit-Girl," Harrison continued after a beat. "He needed the money and resources to look into the lives of every little girl who lived in Queens seven years ago. One day he hacked the right Facebook account and found you," he said raising his chin to Mindy. "I wanted him to scare you. Flush you out. Get you as desperate as Lizewski once public. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt."

"Motherfucker, you think I'm going to save you after that?" Hit-Girl said as she pulled out one of the switchblades and raised it above her head.

"WAIT!" I cried. Raising my arms up and jumping in front of Mindy. "Nobody else needs to die today."

"Yeah, Hit-Girl," Stevie cheerfully bellowed. 'If you want to hurt him, I can do that." He pistol-whipped Harrison so hard on the side of the head that he drew blood.

"You, fucktard," whined Harrison.

"Now, Stevie we've done enough today," I said in my best Morgan Freeman impersonation. "Give me the gun and we can all go home." Unfortunately, Stevie seemed too far-gone in his Kevin Spacey character to make much difference.

"Only if you agree to team up with me. I need your word that we can form our own team."

"I promise Stevie. Now, just give me the gun." I started walking around the table. I felt the glass crunching underneath my feet as I got closer to the shattered mirror.

"How can I know you're telling the truth," Stevie mumbled with a desperate look in his eye.

"Because, what else do we have to live for?" I said. As those words came out of my mouth, they burned with acidity. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Mindy felt there was too much truth there as well.

"And Hit-Girl, what about you?" Stevie said, looking past me.

"I…" is all that was coming out of her mouth.

"Hit-Girl?" he asked with wanting.

"My name's Mindy, you dumbass. And I'm so over this shit." With a flick of the wrist, Mindy threw the knife across the room. It whizzed centimeters past my ear and should have landed in Stevie's neck. But he was surprisingly fast and he pulled Harrison's body in front of him. The blade went into Brently's left shoulder. He squealed like a schoolgirl. Stevie raised his gun and aimed it at me. I felt my worthless life flash before my eyes as his finger hugged the trigger. And somehow I survived the shot. My guardian angel grabbed me from behind and threw me to the ground. That was at least the fifth time she has saved my life.

When I raised my head, Stevie and Harrison were gone from my line of vision and Hit-Girl was pulling me by the arm.

"C'mon, they're getting away," she cried. I was to my feet in the time it took her to jump through the empty golden frame. I followed suit. We raced up the carpeted stairs until we reached the office above.

At the top of the stairs, I was the first to see Harrison lying on the ground. Stevie had pulled the switchblade out of the exec's shoulder and cut his throat wide open with it. I lost track of what was going on around me. Instead of paying attention, I bent down and held Harrison's hand as the light went out of his eyes. He looked absolutely terrified, having no idea why this was happening to him. All his best-laid plans for his future were gone and his final curtain fell when he thought he was still in his first act. Seconds later he was gone.

When I stood up, I saw Hit-Girl had cornered 'Kick-Ass Caesar.' He was standing with his back against the life-size window that overlooked Manhattan. His gun was pointed at his own head. Mindy had her other switchblade out, ready to beat him to the job.

"Can I kill him this time?" she dryly said, never taking her eyes off the target.

"Not if we don't have to," I replied. "Stevie, put down the gun. It's over. You don't want to die."

"OF COURSE I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING DIE," he screeched at me, tears in his eyes. "I want to be _special_. I want to be _like you._" I walked over beside Mindy and watched him.

"We're not that special, Steve. We're just assholes in tights." His eyes bulged at that remark. He looked like a rabid dog for a second.

"QUIT LYING TO ME! You're superheroes. You're the folklore and mythology of our society. Since coming to this country, I've seen everyone look up to your kind. Even the ones who shit on me. Super's in you fucking title."

"I'm not a superhero," I said. Stevie nodded to himself.

"Oh yeah? Only a superhero would try to save me." He nodded again and then shot out the back window behind him. "No matter what."

"Don't…" I begged.

"NO MATTER WHAT!" he screamed while diving backwards. There was nothing I could do. Stevie did a full Armenian into the sunset. I walked over to the broken vista, defeat in every step. After a while, Hit-Girl joined me.

"Well," she finally said with a sigh. "I'm going to guess the cops will be here soon. Given the street, he probably landed on somebody's limo." I said nothing. "This is the kind of shit that's not going to look good in your author's bio. If I were you, I'd look for a new line of work." Mindy pivoted and started to walk away.

"So, that's it?" I said without turning my head. She had only moved a few feet.

"There's nothing left to say."

"I want to come with you," I said in a low monotone.

"I'm better on my own."

"I still want to come with you."

"Dave, I'm done with superheroes. Today was another increasingly fucked up chronicle in the life of Mindy Macready thanks to an already severely fucked up childhood. I am fucking done."

"So, am I," I muttered out of reflex.

"Bullshit!" she yelled. "You've been back in my life less than 72 hours and both of us are in costumes. You make your living off wearing masks," there was now pain in her voice. "And a few hours ago you talked about how we were fucking superheroes because we used a jetpack. Tony Stark didn't get us that, dead drug dealers' money that Daddy took after I killed them did. And now you're brooding over a dead supervillain?"

I remained silent for a moment. I wasn't brooding so much over Stevie's death. I was thinking how much of my younger self I saw in him. When he fell to his end, I saw Damon's face…Chris's face….even Sam's. I realized how little I wanted to have to do with them or this way of life anymore.

Mindy shook her head in disgust and turned to walk away again.

"Stop," I said, finally turning to face her. My right hand reached up to my neck and slowly pulled away my mask.

"I'm also sick of this shit." I tossed the mask behind me out the window. Mindy looked at me again. She judged me with her always-piercing eyes.

"I don't believe you." In that moment, she looked like the loneliest girl in the world with her purple hair blowing in the dusk across her bitter face. She tried to turn again, but I grabbed her wrist and pulled her into me.

"Will you just stop?" I demanded. "I know you want to be on your own. I know you don't trust people and blame yourself for Marcus's death. But guess what? I don't give a fuck, because we work. I don't care why or for what reason, but us…you and me…it's the realest thing I've ever known." She ripped her hand away from mine.

"Give me a reason to believe you," she said. I grabbed her by the waste and kissed her lips in a way I never kissed Katie or anyone else before. I could tell this was different for Mindy too. She pulled her head away. Our lips were inches apart, only the breeze of early evening between them.

"…You mean it?" she said in a voice that sounded as confused as I felt.

"I don't want to be a superhero," I whispered. "I just want you."

"Finally," she said with a tear running down her mask. The first tear I'd seen her shed since the night her father died.

"Finally, what?" Relief broke across her face in the form of the most radiant smile I'd ever seen.

"This show's over…motherfucker."

8 Months Later….

That was the last time the world ever saw Kick-Ass or Hit-Girl in person. Albeit, I hear that since their creators cannot be found that Marvel has rebooted the book and started from scratch with both characters. As for Dave Lizewski and Mindy Macready, they were last seen around the New York harbor that night before also vanishing.

She and I now live in the city of Paris. Here, the age difference is less frowned upon and more of a badge of honor. According to our passports, we're a newlywed couple by the names of Owen and Abby Ayers. While we are still living under yet another pretense, it is the most real either of us have ever felt.

As I've always been physically compared to a young Spielberg, I decided to grow out the beard and complete the look. I think I ended up looking more like John Lennon circa _Sgt. Pepper_ with a tad more facial hair, but I like it. She just dyed her hair color back to its original palate, which works remarkably well at hiding her previous alias.

These days, she works at a little café along the Seine. It's not temporary. I work as a starving sketch artist who is all too happy to draw any tourist that I see. They almost always seem relieved to meet a fellow American who doesn't speak so condescendingly to them. They also miss the point of having a French artist do their portraits in Paris, but I don't say anything. I've also gone back to painting in my spare time and seeing if that can lead anywhere.

We wake up every morning and have breakfast along the Champs-Élysées and then we work all day. At night, we usually come back to our crummy one room apartment and fuck like sea otters until the sun rises. It may not be living for some, but it's enough for us. It's safe.

I don't think we were made for each other or any crap like that. It's just our life experiences have led us to a point where I don't think we can live without each other. There is nothing super special about that. And, we prefer it that way.

THE END


	8. Author's Commentary

Since I was pleasantly surprised with how happy I am with the story, I thought I'd reflect for a moment on how it came to be.

As this is obviously a sequel, it started with "Kicking-Ass for Life," my unofficial Kick-Ass 2. That idea came from five months of delays for the second issue of Mark Millar and John Romita's comic. I liked the first issue quite a bit, which led to daydreaming about how it would apply to the movie characters. That story turned into my adapting that first issue to the movie-verse and its very different view of most of the characters for the first few chapters (ex. getting a happily Katie-whipped Dave out of retirement, so he can go on patrol with Doctor Gravity) and expanding on my own story from there.

I differentiate between the film and comic versions of the original story beyond just plot points. I think they are very different animals in two distinct ways. The first is that, ironically, the comic seems more real in terms of verisimilitude than the film. The violence and levels of harsh reality seem more plausible than the glossy film with the cartoony (but satisfying) third act featuring the protagonist gunning down a room full of mobsters with a jetpack to a cheesy Elvis cover of _The Battle Hymn of the Republic_. I tried to incorporate that epic silliness into the third act of my first fic as well (grappling hooks, falling motorcycles, etc.).

However, the other major difference is the one area that makes the film feel more genuine, in my opinion. It is that the characters are self-aware of the finite nature of this lifestyle. They're aware of the possibility of how bad it could end and that changes them throughout the course of the movie. After landing his first girlfriend, Dave wants to give up being a superhero. Hit-Girl shows real pain when Big Daddy dies. His death is no punch line and her character has a subtle transition from child to forced-upon adult. Even Chris's journey from mobster's disappointing son to detestable supervillain is based on a sympathetic character arc, as opposed to the through-and-through sociopath in Millar's book. In short, there is more of a humanity to the proceedings. So much so, that I don't think the characters of Dave and Mindy would be cavalier and/or oblivious about the consequences of continuing the superhero game as they appear in the first issue of Kick-Ass 2. This difference affected how I viewed the characters while writing that other fic.

A popular subject among fans is what happens when these kids grow up. Most especially, what will Hit-Girl be like as an adult? In the comic's case, I imagine she'll be more or less the same, as Millar's characters tend to remain static. But in reality, growing up with that kind of childhood would lead to a very different adult. One who is probably confused, angry and not the same person she was when she was as the happy-go-lucky child soldier.

So, if "Kicking Ass For Life" was how I imagined the movie characters would react to certain events, "Life Kicked Back" became simply about how they would evolve into adulthood. Dave and Mindy would be very different people at 25/19 than they were at 16/11 (I put the age gap at 5.5 years), therefore so would the style of story. I feel that liberated me. With my first fic, I tried to duplicate the casual cruelty of Dave's narration in the comic/film and fast-paced action/humor vibe. But an adult Dave, who has lost everything from his childhood in my other fic, would see the world differently. That allowed me to slow the pace down and write Dave as slightly more reflective on his life and actions than he was at 18.

In Dave's case, I also wanted to think of what an out-ed superhero would do for a living when his celebrity would ruin almost any professional or academic opportunity for the foreseeable future. The idea of him becoming a comic book writer/artist was entertaining because on one level, I love meta-theatre. On another level, it forces him to be surrounded and make his living off the thing that, in many ways, ruined his life. Everyday he was surrounded by the trappings of Kick-Ass and forced to invest into every aspect of it both creatively and commercially. I imagine that would lead to a level of resentment for his creation and thus himself. That resentment leads to him making a prison out of what he once loved….the world of superhero comics. Plus, it allowed me to write about a fan becoming jaded from the other side of the industry. The one who has to plug away at the formula, go to the conventions, and pimp his work to Hollywood skeptics. I thought that was a fun angle to take for Dave's future.

Mindy was harder. Like most, I kind of wanted to see her eventually end up with Dave. As weird as it is at first glance, when they're older, it kind of makes sense. This is not because they're made for each other or are soul mates. It is because the roads that have shaped them (one of his own making, the other not) leave them really only comfortable around each other.

However, this only made sense to me if they would spend time apart and saw they were more whole with each other than without. The reason is I don't think Dave would have ever seen anything romantically in her otherwise. I tend to reject the idea of them being romantically involved when they're younger because it is creepy and I think Dave would find it that way too. If she grew up around him, he'd always view her as a younger sister and despite Mindy's daddy issues, I think Dave's views would effect her own of their relationship—especially when she is a novice which would also creep Dave out too much to do anything. And he'd have most of the power in that situation.

So, I kept them as children in KAFL, but I wrote it in such a way that they get separated at the end. When Mindy returns in LKB seven years later, they are both different people. Due to Dave's limited prospects from his own personality coupled with his public persona, he is unfulfilled. Mindy having grown up in a very dysfunctional childhood would also be anti-social on some level, at least with establishing deeper connections with those she cannot relate to. Also, if Marcus could succeed at raising her through her pubescent and formative years away from capes (as I have it), her feelings about Damon and by extension herself would muddle her emotions to a great degree. I just can't imagine her as the smiling, mass-murdering daddy's girl when she grows up. However, with daddy issues and a growing cynical view, I think her becoming a very sexual creature is logical. Plus, it makes her developing a relationship with Dave easier/believable as she becomes the dominant one. If that coupling were ever to happen, she would have to be the one to initiate it because, for me, it would not make sense for Dave to pursue that. Even after separation for seven years, he is just too earnest. Mindy has to push him. If Mindy knows what sex is and is more than comfortable with taking it, her seducing Dave when she's an adult is a snap. I personally have trouble seeing a hopeful, anxious Mindy trying nervously to win Dave's attention for the first time. A seductive, adult Mindy who after nine years of crushing (seven of which were in absence) pinning him onto the bed like a predator on its prey, until he gives in and let's her have her way with him? I totally can see that.

From there the story just developed into how can I get these two characters leading very different lives to collide into each other again. The idea of using the meta-elements of fan culture and Hollywood executives messing with what they don't understand about the material or fans seemed fun. And when incorporated right, it allowed me to emphasize more drama, mystery and eventually romance, as opposed to action/adventure/humor. That in itself makes it somewhat more mature, though not necessarily better. Plus, I discovered writing and developing Stevie (even if it was mostly in my head) was a lot of fun given the nature of fan fiction itself.

Ultimately, this story came from my thinking not of a sequel to the movie Kick-Ass in the strictest sense (which was more my last fic), but rather how these characters would evolve in roughly ten years. I think they would become very different people, but internally they'd remain in many ways the same. Their interests could change and become more nuanced, like Dave developing a passion for art or Mindy reading classic literature (that coincidentally is thematically similar), as opposed to comic books. And, I don't see them staying in the superhero game. I intentionally gave it too much baggage for Dave; Mindy was raised into it with too much baggage. They are the escape both of them need from that past…even if they are that past.

Again though, this is just how I imagine the movie characters to grow. The comic versions are all together different and this story would not ring true for them. In fact, I don't see the comic book versions Mark and John created ever giving up the superhero game until they're dead, imprisoned or too old (probably one of the first two).

Anyway, if you read this far I'd like to thank you for reading my fic(s) and hope you enjoyed them. Any and all feedback, good or bad, is welcomed. It was a fun creative experience.


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